Doubts
by Minquette
Summary: Back on Omega for the first time since joining the Normandy, James questions his suitability to lead again, and Shepard is not a qualified therapist.


**A/N:** This was for the Mass Effect Big Bang Spring 2014, for which my partner was the amazing Angmarluna (mytendermadness on tumblr). She had half a fic to go on at the time she was doing art and she still came up with something that captures the crux of the story. Thank you so much for choosing my fic for this MEBB!

Please click on the link in my profile to see her gorgeous art.

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**Decisions**

James bobbed his head to the beat while his fingers tapped against the side of his glass. Shepard sat across the sticky table from him, still nursing the same drink she'd ordered half an hour ago.

"I used to always get kicked out of Afterlife," he said, leaning forward and yelling over the music. Shepard raised an eyebrow over the rim of her drink. "Hey, I never started the fights."

She rolled her eyes but when she put her drink down, the corners of her mouth were twitching. He grinned at her and slouched back against the padded booth to sip his beer. Familiar Omega-quality alcohol burned its way down his chest to settle in his stomach like a heat pack. The alien bartenders liked to think they were serving beer, but it was more like the incredibly alcoholic cousin of beer. Cousin twice removed. And adopted.

For the eighteenth time since they'd walked in to Afterlife, Shepard glanced at Aria's lofty perch. The asari was taking her sweet ass time getting to Shepard, considering Aria was the one who'd called Shepard as soon as the Normandy entered the Terminus Systems.

"So, how'd you end up on Omega anyway?" she asked as she leaned against the table.

Her eyes were fixed on her bright drink, sloshing around the glass as she swirled it in circles on the table, but Shepard's nonchalance didn't fool him anymore.

James sighed. Six months of guarding her and two months into the war she was still prodding him about Fehl Prime and his past and anything else personal that he didn't want to share. It wasn't even a privacy thing anymore. It was a 'I don't want to think about it because it's fucking depressing' thing.

The failure he felt after Fehl was a dull ache in the face of the Reaper invasion. An ache that woke him up in the middle of the night, sweating and with screams ringing in his ears, but dull compared to losing his entire family on Earth. Still, talking about what happened after Fehl was easier than talking about what happened during.

"I was forced onto medical leave," he said with a shrug. Shepard kept her eyes on her glass, but she'd stopped swirling it around. If she were a dog, he was sure her ears would swivel toward him. "I went to a shrink twice, hated it, and then bought a one-way ticket to Omega. I was about to be declared AWOL when the admiral showed up."

She nodded slowly, mouth pursing and shifting from side to side. Her thinking face. Maybe she was going to say something extra philosophical or give him another verbal beating. If she was going to do any beating, though, he'd prefer a physical one, like the last few times they'd danced she'd handed his ass to him. Those bruises didn't linger.

"And then you became my babysitter," she said instead.

He snorted. "Guard."

"Sure." She did her patented sarcastic nod and wrinkle of her nose. "I'm glad you can talk about it now without needing to punch me."

"I don't remember actually getting any hits in. You're pretty distracting in a tank and shorts," he said with an eyebrow waggle that he hoped no one would ever find attractive.

"Uh-huh. And while you're still deciding whether to act on any of your flirting, there are plenty of people here to tame your raging hard on," she said, waving her hand to the rest of the bar.

"Good things come to those who wait, Lola," he said as he knitted his fingers behind his head and flexed his arms.

Shepard smiled, sickly sweet and completely un-Shepard-like. Her shoulders rose and fell as she sighed and shook her head.

"Aww, James, you wouldn't know what to do with me even if you were serious. After all, how do you even begin to satisfy your hero?" she said, and pulled something out of her pocket.

James opened his mouth to retort, until he saw what she'd slid across the table to him: his Normandy badge, which should have been safely hidden away in his locker. He snatched it up and shoved it in his pocket.

They stared at each other.

The music's bass line pounded in time with James's racing heart until it hit a crescendo and went into a slow denouement. Dancers on the podiums slowed their movements in time with the song, and James could almost believe time itself was slowing, either to allow him to escape with a tiny shred of dignity, or to prolong his agony. It was probably the latter.

"Wow… I was joking." She bit her lip and anyone else would think that she felt embarrassed for calling him out, but the crinkle around the corner of her eyes belied the fact that she was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. "I found the pin on the floor in the living quarters. You must have gone through a lot of cereal to find that prize."

_You fucking pendejo, James_. Why didn't he deny it was his? Even if she did know, at least he'd save some face. Some face that was currently burning and hopefully the strobe lights and darkness covered that up.

She glanced up at Aria's perch again. This time, she nodded and James looked up in time to see Aria turning away.

"No time to wait for you to come up with some bullshit cover story, Jimmy," she said, standing. "The queen of Omega calls. I don't know how long I'll be."

"I'm not waiting for you now," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Shepard laughed. "I'll see you on the ship, then. I'll even bring back something to autograph for you."

"Fuck off."

With another laugh, she walked away. James stared at her back, willing her to trip or at least for her shoulders to stop shaking with laughter.

He gulped down the rest of his "beer", slammed the glass down when he was done and knocked his knee on the fixed metal table as he stood. He cursed and rubbed his knee, looking up at the balcony where he could just make out Shepard and Aria moving. At least she hadn't seen that display of grace. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stalked out of the club and into the frigid Omega air.

The biting coldness was all wrong. It should be muggy and the air should be heavy with the misery and poverty that sucked out people's souls. He plodded along the walkway toward the docks until he passed a flickering holo ad for a familiar motel. He stared at it, wondering which room they'd taken a picture of, considering the one he'd stayed in all those months ago was a lot shabbier.

The smell of alcohol washed over him a split second before a haggard, middle-aged man, his arm thrown over the shoulders of a frail young woman, spoke. "They're human friendly there. You won't wake up dead."

"You don't wake up if you're dead, papa," said the woman with a sigh.

He man looked at her, his sloppy smile sad. "Sure you can, petal. Your body just has to catch up."

It was almost like looking at Josh Sanders. All that needed to happen next was the rage and uncontrolled biotic bursts that used to send James running to his room to hide in his closet. This old man seemed to be just another drunk old man on Omega, though, and the woman apologised as she shuffled him off to wherever they lived.

James looked back at the holo, but the ad had changed to something else. He took one step toward the docks before turning on his heel and walking back the way he came. He retraced the familiar steps to the motel until he stood under the flickering motel sign.

"Home, sweet home," he said under his breath before walking in the front door.

The large lady at the front desk looked up from her datapad and her glasses nearly fell off her nose as she jerked to her feet. She bustled over to give him a bear-like hug.

"Jimmy!" Her squeal hurt almost as much as her hug. "I thought you was a goner. Some Blues came in and packed all your stuff. Last anyone heard, you was wailin' on a couple of four eyes. Didja get locked up?"

"I missed you too, Mama Clare," he said after she let him go and went back behind her desk to rummage for something. "I didn't get locked up. I went back into service."

She shook her head and sighed as she brought him over a key. "Never understood why you joined up in the first place. Alliance never did nothing for us out here. Your room's still empty, ya know. Not much business after you left. The… the _things_… well, it just wasn't good for a while. Thanks to Shepard, Aria's back in charge. Shepard's the only good thing the Blues ever had. Except you, of course, love."

"Yeah, she's… something else." What other words could describe her without Clare poking fun at how he'd always get into fights over the shit people would say about Shepard after she died? "She's actually my CO—my boss."

Clare's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "Someone told me they saw you walking 'round Afterlife with her, but I didn't believe them. Not my Jimmy, I says. He's locked up."

James laughed. Good to know she had so much confidence in him. Then again, she was usually the one who cleaned him up the morning after a fight, or the one to go looking for him when he lost his way after one too many drinks. He seemed neither competent nor reliable back then.

"Go on, get some rest," she said, pushing him down the hall toward the elevator. "I'll have brekky for you in the morn."

He hadn't been planning to stay, but he couldn't say no to her. He'd never turn down Clare's home cooking anyway. She didn't make the same food as his _abuela_, but it had the same rustic feel of having taken severe liberties with a recipe while still tasting good.

"Thanks," he said as he pressed the elevator button. He turned to smile down at her. "It's good to see you again."

"I'm just glad you're safe, love," she said, patting his bristly cheek before shoving him into the elevator.

When he got to his room, the door opened with a screech. Yup, home sweet home—unpainted metal panels, the bedside light still didn't work, the vidscreen flickered and died the first few times he tried to turn it on, and the bathroom… he didn't want to talk about the bathroom. Tomorrow, he'd go down the always-unlocked maintenance room and get the tools out.

He stripped to his boxers and lowered himself onto the bed. It creaked with every movement but the hard mattress, scratchy sheets, and flat pillow were no different from his bunk on the Normandy. In minutes, he was asleep, and what felt like a minute later, he woke up to Clare's muffled voice on the other side of his door and insistent knocking.

He stumbled to the door, uncaring of his semi-nakedness. It wasn't anything Clare hadn't seen before.

The door slid open and he mumbled out a groggy, "What's wrong?"

"You got a visitor," she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

Shepard.

He turned to grab his discarded shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head. A seam ripped as he tried to put his head through an armhole. Shepard snickered and he glared at her with one eye through the armhole.

"Are you happy now, Commander? I ripped my favourite shirt," he said, pulling it off his head again.

"Your only shirt," she said, breezing into the room and looking around. "So, this is where you lived before you became my babysitter."

"_Guard_, and yes." He turned to Clare and gave her an apologetic grimace. "Thanks. The Commander won't be long. You can go back to bed or reading or whatever."

Clare looked from Shepard, to him, to Shepard, back to his still mostly-undressed state and raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure."

"No, just… no. It's not…" He sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "It's not like that."

She leaned forward to peer at his face. He tried to hold her gaze but it was like having a staring contest with a cat.

"I'm sure," Clare said again, and tugged his ripped shirt from his hands before leaving.

James let the door slide closed before turning to look at Shepard, who had just left the bathroom.

"The hot water doesn't work," she said.

"What are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "You were missing."

"I'm fine."

Shepard studied him from head to toe, as if she didn't believe him and was looking for signs that he was not fine. He shifted under her gaze and unconsciously held his hands in front of his boxers, which only served to attract her attention. She raised an eyebrow and a half-smile twitched across her lips.

James's ears felt hot. It probably looked like he was hiding something. Not that he was. He was very well-proportioned.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm going to sleep."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I like it here."

She looked around again. "_Why?_"

He sighed. "Because it's private and familiar and when I wake up Clare will make an amazing breakfast and I'll repay her by fixing whatever I can around this place until you actually need me."

"Fair enough," she said, and sat on his bed.

Shepard toed off her boots before she swung her socked feet onto the mattress and lay down. James stared at her as she shifted into a more comfortable position. He replayed the last few minutes in his head; he didn't remember inviting her to stay.

She knitted her fingers together and cradled the back of head in them. She looked too comfortable now, in _his_ bed and _his_ home.

The movement exposed a band of skin across her stomach a shade paler than her face. He licked his dry lips. Her skin would probably taste of salt with a hint of regulation soap. She'd feel too hot to his touch—all biotics felt like they'd just sprinted a mile—and even with her soft curves, she'd have hard planes of muscle under silky skin and when he ran his lips–

He shook the imaginings from his head before he needed a reason to keep his hands in front of his boxers. James dropped his eyes to the worn carpet. He was too tired for this.

"Okay, you've found me and I'm fine," he said, voice gruff. "Need something else?"

"I can't sleep." Getting answers out of Shepard was like shooting pyjaks at fifty yards, blindfolded, and with a peashooter.

Drowsiness still addled his brain so he fell back onto default cheekiness. "Couldn't sleep because you were thinking about me?"

"EDI informed me you'd neither come back to the ship nor recorded that you were going to be off the ship."

She'd dodged the question. He rubbed his hands over his face, a little groan escaping him. "It's 3 in the morning, I'm tired, cold–"

"Other CO's would downgrade your duties for disappearing like this," she said.

James shrugged. She could downgrade his duties, but then she wouldn't have an arms master. The Alliance—hell, the galaxy—was so far up shit creek that protocol and rules were barely suggestions.

"Why was Fehl so bad that you ran to this hellhole?" she asked when he didn't answer.

No, wait, it wasn't thinking about Shepard in his bed that he was too tired for, it was talking about _this_.

"Is that why you couldn't sleep, Shepard?"

"You're not answering my question."

"Neither are you."

Shepard crossed her arms over her chest. He matched her stare, which was difficult, until her gaze flickered to the door and he realised she had no idea how to answer him. That was a first. The seconds ticked by until James felt his eyes watering from not blinking, before she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, which meant that she'd made a decision and she didn't like it.

"I don't sleep much anyway but, yeah, I wanted to know. I've always wanted to know, except I don't want to read about it. I want to hear it from you."

Huh, honesty. Not what he'd expected. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the streaky window. What kind of questioning was this to spring on a guy in the middle of the night, though?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shepard sit up and lean her back against the headboard. Maybe if he kept his mouth shut, she'd get bored and leave. Shepard on a mission had focus and determination. Shepard in her downtime had the attention span of a fish. When he looked back at her, she folded her hands in her lap and raised an expectant eyebrow. Ah. This wasn't fish-Shepard, this was mission-Shepard.

"I was stationed–"

"I know _what_ happened. I want to know _why_ you ran."

"For fuck's sake, Shepard, I don't know. The shrink didn't even ask me why I felt the way I did."

"Well, you only went twice," she said with a shrug.

He wanted to sit down, but the motel was too cheap to provide an extra chair. He plopped his bulk on the end of the bed and the springs protested.

"I made the right choice, apparently, but it felt wrong." He ran his hands through his hair again, scratching at his scalp like maybe he could get through his skull and pick out with his fingers what bothered him. "It's not in my statement, but the data I sacrificed the colonists for was in the same pod as someone I had feelings for."

Shepard nodded, silent and non-judgemental, and he knew she understood. Maybe she'd made that sacrifice, mistake, choice—whatever anyone wanted to call it—herself.

"You made the right decision," she said.

"I know I made the right decision, but I don't know if I'd make it again if I didn't have feelings for her." He stood and paced the tiny room. "I want my own command someday, Shepard. I want to finish the N-program, I want an N7 badge. But… maybe I'm too soft to make those hard decisions."

"You will be, if you don't stop thinking like that."

"It's not a switch in my brain I get to just turn off," he said, rounding on her just as his pacing brought him by the bed again.

"You think I don't know that? It's something you work on every day of your goddamn life." She shot off the bed, standing so close to him that if she stood on her toes, her nose would touch his chin. "Don't let your doubts control you, James, and never pretend they don't exist, or you'll do something so goddamn stupid that your Mars stunt will look like bumper cars at the carnival, only this time you'll actually get someone kill–"

"I don't need a lecture, Commander."

"I could carve it into your chest for you to read later if you like," she said, tone dripping with just as much honey as venom.

"I dare you."

James's pulse pounded in his ears as they glared at each other. Now this was familiar. This was the part where one of them would turn and leave, usually him because when words failed him he resorted to fists, and he didn't want to get into a fight with Shepard. She was his CO. And she'd wipe the floor with him anyway. Tonight, though, he promised himself, it wouldn't be him backing down first. This was his home and she'd barged in here with her questions and familiarity and advice he'd never asked for.

A blue corona enveloped her body and then was gone so quickly he might have imagined it, if he hadn't felt the tingle of eezo that raised the hair on his skin. She blinked and the fury on her face melted to shock before she dropped her gaze and stepped back.

The silence between them was broken only by her slow, measured breathing.

Adrenaline pumped through James's body, making him shiver even though he no longer felt the cold. He jerked a hand through his hair before turning and walking away from her. She'd almost used her biotics on him. Not just thought about it, but almost actually done it. She'd almost thrown him across the room, or ripped him to shreds, or any number of things he'd seen her do in the field. He rubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to rub away the shock.

He had never seen Shepard use her biotics against a friend.

"I'm sorry, James." Her voice was barely louder than whisper. When her voice came again, it was louder and closer, with unfinished sentences stumbling into the air. "I didn't mean… I don't usually lose… you just make me…"

The air shifted around him and he turned. Shepard, who usually announced her presence anywhere with raucous laughter, heavy footsteps, or gunfire, had moved so silently she was now barely a step away from him. Her face slowly tipped up as her gaze travelled from her eyelevel to his face. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, leaving them shiny and pink.

Shepard placed a warm and lightly calloused hand against his chest. He tore his gaze away from her lips as she raised herself on her toes and leaned into him. Her eyelids drifted closed until only a sliver of green peeked out from under thick eyelashes. She held her lips a hair's breadth from his, her breath puffing against him, as if she were giving him plenty of time to step away. When he didn't, she kissed him.

Months of banter and heated sparring that ended in cold showers trampled over any thoughts he may have had on continuing her deliberate movements. One hand tangled in her hair and the other pulled her fully against him. The kiss devolved from its cautious beginnings to his lips trailing across her jaw and her blunt nails digging into his arms.

She broke the kiss, but only for long enough to pull her shirt over her head. She flung it somewhere behind him and pulled him back to her lips.

She felt and tasted and smelt both exactly and nothing like he imagined. She was hot and salty and non-Alliance issue soap lingered under the constant smell of eezo and heatsinks that enveloped her. His fingers glided across scars she'd left unhealed since her resurrection, like the scars he'd left on himself as reminders.

Layer by layer, their clothes left a trail to the bed.

Frenzied kisses melded with the heavy panting and suppressed moans of people too used to keeping their pleasure quiet in shared rooms. She showed it in other ways. The way her hips rose to meet his, the thin red lines she raked down his back, the curve of her neck as she threw her head back in a silent scream, and the quivering clenches that pulled him into his own supernova.

Slowly, like the silent, mushroom bloom of a target hit from orbit, Shepard unfurled shaky limbs from him and he rolled onto his back next to her. The cold rushed in to reclaim him and the silence was broken only be their breathing slowly returning to normal.

"When you met me, you said you didn't know why Anderson chose you, and since you were an irreverent shit, despite meeting your hero in the flesh, I didn't know either. But now I do," she said, voice quiet. He looked at her but she stared at the ceiling. "He knew that you could shoot me if I really was a Cerberus operative."

"I don't think he counted on how much I care about you once I got over who you are."

Shepard huffed a cynical laugh and rolled off the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows as he watched her redress herself.

"Yes, he did," she said, pulling on her boots and snapping the fastenings closed. She walked to the bed and sat. "If you'd have let me go, then whatever happened next, would be on you. You won't let your affection cloud your judgement again."

James rolled his eyes. "I don't even know that, so how does he know?"

Her face softened into the kind of smile he rarely saw. Relaxed, open—happy. It made the corners of her eyes crinkle, the line between her brows smooth, and exactly how he'd imagined she'd always look if Akuze had never happened.

"Because you're the kind of person who still believes in things like honour, duty and loyalty even after life tried to beat it out of you. Anderson saw that." She brushed her fingers lightly against his stubbled cheek and her thumb traced across the scar on his nose. "And I see that."

James swallowed and opened his mouth but no words came. In a blink of the eye, her smile hardened back into her lopsided smirk and she poked his nose. Before he could process the wall Shepard had just placed between them again, she was off the bed and striding to the door.

"Wait, was this a one-time thing or…" he let the sentence trail off, hoping that she'd finish it, but she stood by the door, her head cocked to the side.

"It's like you didn't listen to a word I said tonight," she said with a little shake of her head. "But for the record, I'm not in the market something casual."

With a twiddle of her fingers, she left the room.

James stared at the door after she left. He was pretty damn sure they didn't talk about anything to do with relationships so he had no idea what he was supposed to be listening to. Guilt and doubts and his white knight complex and making decisions and—_oh_… okay, he got it now.

He lay in the bed for all of thirty seconds before he threw the covers off himself, shoved his pants on sans-boxers, and sprinted after her.


End file.
